ate. He bore the livery of Montague. Turnkey after turnkey admitted
him, until finally he stood before the cell of John Law and delivered
into his hand, as he had been commanded, the message that he bore. That
afternoon this same messenger paused at the gate of the house of
Knollys. Here, too, he was admitted promptly. He delivered into the
hands of the Lady Catharine Knollys a certain message. This was of a
Wednesday. On the following Friday it was decreed that the gallows
should do its work. Two more days and there would be an end of "Jessamy"
Law.

That Wednesday night a covered carriage came to the door of the house of
Knollys. Its driver was muffled in such fashion that he could hardly
have been known. There stepped from the house the cloaked figure of a
woman, who entered the carriage and herself pulled shut the door. The
vehicle was soon lost among the darkling streets.

Catharine Knollys had heard the summons of her fate. She now sat
trembling in the carriage.

When finally the vehicle stopped at the curb of the walk which led to
the prison gate, a second carriage, as mysterious as the first, came
down the street and stopped at a little distance, but close to the curb
on the side nearest to the gate. The driver of the first carriage,
evidently not liking the close neighborhood at the time, edged a trifle
farther down the way. The second carriage thereupon drew up into the
spot just vacated, and the two, not easily distinguishable at the hour
and in the dark and unlighted street, stood so, each apparently watchful
of the other, each seemingly without an occupant.

Lady Catharine had left her carriage before this interchange, and had
passed the prison gate alone. Her steps faltered. It was hardly
consciously that she finally found her way into the court, through the
gate, down the evil-smelling corridors, past the sodden and leering
constables, up to the last gate which separated her from him whom she
had come to see.

She had been admitted without demur as far as this point, and even now
her coming seemed not altogether a matter of surprise. The burly turnkey
at the last door stood ready to meet her. With loud commands, he drove
out of the corridor the crowd of prison attendants. He approached Lady
Catharine, hat in hand and bowing deeply.

"I presume you are the man whom I would see," said she, faintly, almost
unequal to the task imposed upon her.

"Aye, Madam, I doubt not, with my best worship for you."